My friend, The Other Alan, said he avoided camping near water because water = bugs. Annoying bugs. Biting bugs. I’ve found that to be true, although I’ve camped in places far from water and have still been plagued by unwanted insects.
However, I’ve noticed a remarkable lack of bugs during my costal travels. I guess they don’t like cool, moist, salty air. Or something.
One day in Mendocino a single bee flew into the Rolling Steel Tent, hovered a moment to check things out, determined there was no pollen to be had, and left.
There was a small fly in Crescent City that spent most of its time trying to figure out what mysterious invisible force was blocking the way. And repeatedly bashing its head on the windows caused it to forget the very large door it entered through.
And today, by the Rogue River a tiny bee kept leaving and returning and leaving and returning. I think it just couldn’t get enough of the Rolling Steel Tent’s wonderfulness. Or it was checking to see if I had left yet.
Then a butterfly perched in the doorway, flexing its iridescent wings, perhaps to signal a mate, or to tell me, “I’m much prettier than you.”
But the best data I have about the low number of insects is how few are splattered on the front of the van and windshield.
While a low bug count saves me some annoyance and itching, it’s not good for the insectivores out there. Other than seagulls, pelicans, cormorants, and sandpipers I haven’t seen many birds. I was a little shocked to see a robin on the path through the green maze. And it was shocked to see me.
I’ll enjoy the bug situation while I can. Word has it Vancouver Island is aswarm with mosquitos and no-see-ems. Which reminds me of an old joke:
A man was camped in the deep woods when he became aware of a low droning noise above his head. He looked up and saw two mosquitos as large as Great Danes.
One mosquito said to the other, “Should we eat him here or take him with us?”
His partner replied, “Eat him here, because if we take him back the bigger ones will steal him from us.”
